I saw the Beatles six times: four times in concert: at the Chicago International Amphitheater in '64, at Comiskey Park in '65 (afternoon and evening show), and at the Amphitheater again in '66. The concerts were incredible. But I had the most fun in parking lots. The first time was outside their motel in Chicago, where I acquitted myself with great dignity. I tried at least three times to sneak past the guard on the outside staircase to get into Paul's room. Not that I knew what I would do when I got there.

The second parking lot was at Capitol Records. I was in LA with my parents and little brother. We were sightseeing. When we drove by the Capitol Records building - which was unmistakable, as it was shaped like a stack of LP's - I shrieked. I had no idea if the Beatles were in LA, much less visiting their record label. All I knew was we were passing an important Beatle landmark. My dad better stop the car or I would die.

Being a nice dad, he stopped. I leaped out. Some mysterious instinct drew me to the front door, even though there wasn't a crowd, just a few girls standing there talking. Then I heard the words I hoped, but never expected, to hear. "They're inside."

h my God. So much for the plans of touring LA. I would not leave. My parents and my little brother -- who would have thought I was out of mind except that he was used to it by now, being a veteran Beatle chaser. When he was 9, he sat in the cheap seats with my dad at the Amphitheater. My dad stuck cotton in his ears and read a book, while I shrieked myself hoarse in a box.

The Beatle grapevine was at work. Girls were pulling up in cabs, being dropped off by carloads, running to the door. I was depressed by the crowd. I wanted to encounter them alone. The concerts were fabulous. The energy and love coming from the crowd was like nothing I had ever experienced, but I wanted it to be only me and him, the way it was in my bedroom at home with just me and his picture.

I ran around the building to the back, out of sight of my parents but I didn't care. After a few minutes, a small silver van pulled up. Before I could even get out a scream, all four Beatles came out of the back door and got in the van. They were inches away. I jumped up on the van, to look through the window. As he got in, Ringo bumped his head and groaned. John flashed a look at me. Paul paused at the door. Then he grinned. At me. I didn't move until I was yanked off the van.

I can't tell you what my family did the rest of the vacation. Maybe we went to Disneyland, maybe we went to Knott's Berry Farm, maybe we went to the ocean. From then on, all I saw was Paul smiling at me. For that brief moment, we were alone. There was no one else in the world, except a Beatle fan and a Beatle.